Page 81 of Hockey Nanny

My throat tightened.

I shook my head once. “I’m done.”

I skated past Boone before he could say anything else. My legs protested every stride, but I didn’t slow down. I didn’t look back. I headed straight for the tunnel, the sound of my blades echoing too loud in the empty rink.

Behind me, Boone called my name.

I kept going.

The locker room was empty when I shoved the door open. The quiet hit harder than the drills had. I ripped off my helmet and dropped it onto the bench, then sat, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.

My hands were still shaking.

I had no idea how to fix any of it. And for the first time in a long time, the ice hadn’t helped at all.

Gage didn’t knock. He just slid the locker room door open, quiet enough that I barely noticed until he was stepping inside, skates scraping softly as he came over. I didn’t bother looking up. I didn’t want anyone seeing me like this. The empty rinkhad left me raw, but the silence here, the echo of our blades, the smell of sweat and cleaning solution was worse. Too real.

He sat down beside me without saying anything. Close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. I could feel the warmth bleeding through his gear. I didn’t move.

“Can I talk to you without getting the shit beaten out of me?”

I gave a hollow laugh, one that bounced off the lockers and felt like it might tear me in half.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” My words sounded small and brittle even to me. I could hear the fatigue in them. Hear the way my heart refused to settle in my chest.

Gage didn’t answer right away. He waited. Let me sit there, sulking like a teenager who’d lost every reason to try. Finally, he leaned back on the bench.

“Okay,” he said, “so then you’ll just listen.”

I made no sign of agreement, but let the silence swallow me. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want anyone to tell me I wasn’t handling it right. I didn’t want anyone reminding me that I’d fucked up everything I actually cared about.

But he kept going.

“I get it,” he said. “I get what you’re feeling. I know how it eats at you, how you keep driving yourself, pushing, punishing, because you think that’s the only way you can fix it.”

I shifted a little, uncomfortable. Gage didn’t flinch. He just watched me, steady, like he expected this to be hard for me but didn’t care.

“You can’t keep hiding behind the game forever,” he said. “You can’t bury yourself in drills and practices and wins and losses and think it makes anything okay. Because if you do, you’regonna end up losing everything anyway. Carissa. Boone. Me. Yourself.”

I swallowed. The words hit differently than I expected. Gage didn’t say them with sarcasm or anger. He didn’t threaten or lecture. Just stated facts. Clear, blunt, hard. Like ice cracking under a skate.

And I hated how much it made me feel.

“To love,” he went on, softer this time, “you have to be there. You can’t just sit back and watch from a distance. You have to be there to let someone love you back. You… you can’t skip that part. No drill, no workout, no goddamn cup makes it easier.”

I turned my head slightly. Just enough to look at him out of the corner of my eye. The way he’d said it… the way he’d framed it… I felt the punch in my chest. Felt it settle in my throat. Carissa. The morning after the game. The look on Henry’s face. The ache I hadn’t let myself own. The way I’d told myself walking away was easier. All of it just stacked up and landed here. On this bench. With Gage, quietly pointing out what I’d known all along but refused to admit.

“I…” I started. My voice cracked before I could finish. I couldn’t get the words out.

Gage didn’t push. Just nodded. Let me stumble over myself. Let me sit there while the weight of everything I’d been dodging pressed against my ribs.

Finally, he leaned back, exhaling through his nose, and said, “You need to stop punishing yourself, Dawson. You’re not doing anyone any favors by disappearing.”

I shook my head slowly. He was right. But hearing it made it harder to breathe. Hearing it made it worse because now I had no defense. No excuse. No way to shield myself from the truth I’d been ignoring.

“Where’s Boone?” I asked, my throat still tight.

Gage snorted, one side of his mouth tugging up. “I told him to wait outside.”